


Together At Sea

by Makioka



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Canon Relationships, F/M, Pre-Canon, at sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makioka/pseuds/Makioka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs Croft knows her place aboard ship and so does her husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together At Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosied/gifts).



> A short fluffy treat about these two together. Happy Yuletide!

 The smell of gunpowder was thick in the air for a moment before it was wafted away by the fresh sea breeze - salty, tainted with just a little of the bilges, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Ten seconds shaved off their time and not an injury, even on gun four, the old Bessie, which had a sadistic tendency to catch fingers at the most awkward moment. Overhead the sun was hot on the back of his neck, and he issued orders to the Master before taking advantage of the moment to slip below decks and kiss his wife in a way that was not at all how the Captain of a ship, post or not, should spend his time.

Sophia let him, laughed up at him with bright eyes as she set aside her book - one he'd purchased for her from a pawnshop in Gibraltar, and held out a hand for him to hold, fingers sturdy and strong, no gentle ladies hands these - used to the horses and the hares, not unused to work. "May I come up?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, and pulled her up neatly from the little chair that only just fit in the room, led her from the small wooden world up to the sky and sea above. She let go of his hand before they emerged and was treated to the usual sidelong looks at the Captain's lady, that she had long before got used to, that spoke more of curiosity than of any more sinister intention. Had she been younger, had she been more fashionable, she would have exacted comment, but the men seemed to accept her as the Captain's wife, a title she felt comfortable with now, however much it had chafed before - mother's daughter, father's darling, all of it left behind in following him and sharing his ship-bounded universe.

Now she sailed with him as much as she could, and he drew strength from her unflinching optimism, from the bright sharp spark of her humour and the swift strength of her shoulder. He took the lead but she steered the way, and he was thankful once again, for the small country dance that had introduced them.

Of course the disadvantage of one's wife being transported from port to port was the ever present subsumed threat of combat. To imagine Sophia being harmed was unthinkable. He was not an imaginative man nor given to idle worry, but at the thought of her coming to harm, he found himself in the midst of wild speculation and almost unmanly fear, far more so he thought, than she would feel herself. She had steeled herself upon their marriage in the quiet way his father before him had told him to hope for - the strength of resignation in the face of the inevitable.

So when the news was brought from look-up by an ashen faced boy, of a ship spotted, the colours alien, his heart beat double-fast in his chest against the starched white of the shirt she'd mended only yesterday. Mechanically, swiftly, he gave orders, Sophia stayed not a second longer than it took to press his hand, a little squeeze of the fingers before she departed below deck. There was no room to question and he did not do so - did he not of all men know that hesitation was fatal? If battle should be joined, he would have to think only of his men and nothing else - anything else would be a failure of his duty.

  
He could not remember later many of the details, the splintering of the wood, the whining of Old Bessie, the shocked death-stare of a midshipman falling into his arms, the sinking conviction of defeat, it became a numbed blur that he did not rate cowardice but could not be proud of anyway. He did not think of Sophia, his heart would have failed he suspected, he would have laid down arms for her sake if he had not known that bred of the same race as he, she would have despised it. Simply, he fought and allowed battle to fill him and remove his fear.

When, after the battle was done, the ship routed and boarded, sullen sailors looking askance at him, his own men cheering hoarsely, game still for what the day brought, he ventured down to his cabin. Sophia was not there, and fearing the worst, he crept along to where he thought she should be - and where he must dare to enter - the evil smelling, foul little space that served as their infirmary. He saw her not amongs the heaving groaning humanity that writhed there, didn't see her at all until she spoke to him, her hair bound back from her face - which had never been beautiful but always been his - steeped to the arms in gore, the look on her face wretched but resolute.

Still the smile that broke out when she looked at him, covered as she was in the fruit of his labours made his heart move a little.

"There was need of help," she told him squarely, ready to receive his verdict.

"Thank you," he said, and kissed her hand.


End file.
